Come Back to Me
by Carry On Wayward Archer
Summary: The Angels have fallen, and Dean is left to pick up the pieces of his fallen angel. He can only hope he can be enough for Cas- enough to be able to put his broken angel back together. (Season 8 spoilers) Destiel
1. Then Mark of a New Era

**Hey! New Story! Exciting!Don't really know what to say... so, enjoy it!**

**(Rating will change to M in later chapters)**

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**Then Mark of a New Era**

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"No. No no no. Shit. CAS! Listen to me you son of a bitch! Get your feathery ass over here right fucking now. Dammit!"

Dean paced back and forth, only stopping to turn around and send a stack of papers and notes scattering across the floor. It had been hours since the first angels had started to fall, and Dean still hadn't heard a word from him.

_Stupid Stupid Stupid. What if he went and got himself fucking killed?_

Dean was stuck in the bunker, waiting for Sam to get back. When the angels had started falling Sam didn't even had to say a word, he just manhandled the catatonic Dean into the passenger seat and drove them back wordlessly. It was a testament to how out of it Dean was when he couldn't even find it in him to protest when Sam had taken the keys from his pocket.

Only when they pulled up did Dean have enough sense to be able to get out of the car and shakily make it inside without face-planting. He felt sick, and his head was starting to be filled with a shrill ringing noise, one of which sent his blood pounding in his ears.

When Sam came into the room two minute later, the first thing he heard was pained breathing coming from the kitchen. Sam ran to the source of the noise, and found Dean hunched over the trash can, dry heaving and covered in a cold sweat.

"Hey Hey, Dean. Dean look at me!" Sam rushed over to Dean and knelt next to him, taking his brother's face in his hands. Sam waited until Dean's eyes slowly focused on his face.

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Shock had clearly settled into panic already, and Sam had to say something fast before it escalated to quickly.

"Dean, look. Man listen to me, Cas is going to be ok. Dean! I said he's going to be ok. Look- you stay here, see if he comes back. I'm going to go out and look for him. We'll find him, ok? Nothing bad's gonna happen. He's tough, remember? Tougher then both of us. We're going to get through this. You gotta focus, man. Get up. I need you here with me man, _Cas_ needs you here with me. I can't go 'till I know you're not gonna pass out on the floor."

Slowly, color started to return to Dean's face and he squared his jaw. Giving a small nod, Sam helped Dean to his feet and led him over to a chair. When Dean was seated, Sam went over to the fridge and pulled out the sole water bottle that hadn't seen daylight in weeks. Sighing, Sam ran his hand over his face and handed the bottle out to Dean.

"Couldn't have killed you to grab me a beer?" Dean muttered, but he took the bottle anyway. He twisted the cap off and in two hard drags, Dean downed the bottle and tossed his head back. Taking that as a sign that Dean was starting to return to himself, he headed over to the door and threw on his jacket.

"Dean."

From across the room, Dean looked up.

"He's going to be fine…ok? Cas is going to come back."

Dean just supplied a shaky nod before looking away, clearly trying to school his facial expression and not show any emotions in front of his brother.

Sighing, Sam closed the door. He really needed to find his brothers angel, and fast.

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**So ya! Chapter 1! Really short I know, but please tell me what you think? Um- I'm going to try to have the next chapter up by tomorrow or the day after- so stay tuned! Review Please!**

**~Magnolia**


	2. Heal What Has Been Hurt

**Remember when I said I'd update in a day? *Nervous laughter* Haha yeah...**

**(Rating will be changed to M in later chapters)**

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**Heal What Has Been Hurt**

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**Flower gleam and glow,**  
**Let your power shine,**  
**Make the clock reverse,**  
**Bring back what once was mine.**

**Heal what has been hurt,**  
**Change the fates design, **  
**Save what has been lost,**  
**Bring back what once was mine,**  
**What once was mine.**

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Sam had been gone for six hours, and of course the Sasquatch wasn't picking up his phone. Dean had run out of things to do hours ago. He had placed all the calls he could think of- practically clearing out his dad's journal. Frustrated, Dean picked up one of the empty beer bottles and hurled it against the wall.

Surprisingly, it did little to calm him down.

A rush of fatigue swept over him, and Dean collapsed to the couch, head in hand_. No no no no no no…_

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A shrill ringing shocked him awake, and Dean sat up, groaning as he was hit with sudden vertigo. Ignoring it, he scrambled over to the phone and quickly accepted the call.

"Sam?"

"Dean! Dean I found him. Shit, he was at the edge of the woods on the ground."

The sudden juddering of his heart crashed loudly through his ears. How was it possible that his blood was pumping fiercer than ever yet at the same time not at all?

He gulped, feeling his Adam's apple quake in his throat. He tried to concentrate, he_ needed_ to concentrate.

"Is he- fuck, is he ok?"

Waiting the few seconds for the reply was torture; pure, unbridled, torture.

"I don't know. He- he's breathing. But- um, I think something attacked him. There's claw marks or something all over his arms and legs, and he's bleeding, Dean. He's not healing. And his_ throat_. Jesus, it looks like someone slit his throat. I put pressure on all the wounds I could, but Dean, just- be ready when I get back. I'm ten minutes out."

Dean was frozen, rooted in position as he felt like he was just pushed overboard. He felt like he was drowning. _Think_. He heard Sam's words through the phone, but it took hours for them to actually register in his brain; words like _'bleeding'_, _'throat'_ and, _'not healing'_ were sent reeling and spinning to his very core.

When he finally processed the end of Sam's sentence, he nodded slowly before realizing that Sam couldn't see him. "Ya- ya of course. I'll be ready."

"Good." It came out tense, forced. Dean could picture his taunt muscles and death grip on the wheel. Numbly, he ended the call and dropped the phone onto the couch. He needed to move, to be ready.

Stiffly, Dean walked around the hotel room, going back and forth between several rooms and scavenging things to use for first aid. In the end, he ended up having to strip one of the beds of its' sheets to tear it into bandages. When he was done, on the table laid out in disarray were needles, cloth, water, tweezers, alcohol, thread, a bucket, and a pocket knife. Dean cursed the feeble supplies, but knew it would have to be enough.

It seemed like forever after he had finished setting up for the door to ring, signaling Sam's return. He was stretched so tight that he almost jumped when the high-pitched wail of the buzzer was pressed repeatedly, followed swiftly by Sam kicking against the door.

"Dean! Dean open up!"

He ran over to the door, hitting the chair in the process and almost landing on the floor. He yanked the door open and came face to face with Sam who was practically carrying an unconscious Cas into the room.

Cas was broken, that was really the only word for it. Blood pooled through the hasty bandages Sam had made out of his shirt and ran down his legs, which dragged on the floor, lifeless. His shoes were missing, and his feet looked to be full of pickers and splinters; though you could hardly tell over the swelling and the puss. Through his muddied and ripped shirt, Dean could see more blood.

_Did he have any more blood left to lose?_

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Dean got his answer about an hour later. Yes, he did have more to lose, if the state of their carpet was anything to go by. After laying him out of the carpet and just looking at him, trying to figure out what to do; Dean was almost glad the dude was unconscious. Because patching him up? Damn, that was going to hurt.

Without saying a word, Dean had Cas laid out of the floor and went to his feet. They were limp, and the sight of them almost brought Dean to tears. Almost. Instead, he examined them, carefully turning them to figure out the best way to de-splinter them. His feet were so swollen; he could barely even see the wood lodged in his foot. Then again, the half-congealed puss didn't exactly make it any easier. With a set stomach, Dean set about dripping water over them and carefully toweling them off before grabbing the tweezers and setting to work.

When he was almost halfway through and with a pile of wood and spikes next to him, Dean prayed that Cas was to out of it to feel anything. Because this? This would hurt like hell. With each piece of wood dislodged, a stream of discolored blood and puss leaked from his feet. At one point, Dean felt a shock of cold travel up his spine and he sat up, rigidly.

_Would he even be able to walk again?_

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Twenty minutes later, Castiel's feet were about as fixed as they were going to get. Carefully, Dean took the alcohol and slowly poured it over his feet, mentally wincing at the sting that it was sure to cause. When he was done, he set it back on the table, only minutely aware of Sam taking the bottle and cleansing some of his wound's further up. Dean didn't bother to look. He had tunnel vision, only seeing Cas. Only seeing the endless cuts and bruises that littered his lifeless body. If it wasn't for the ragged intake of breath, however shallow, that filled the room every now and then, Dean would assume he was dead.

Dean forced himself to stop thinking then, because Cas _wouldn't _die. He couldn't. He was a fucking angel of the lord, a _warrior of heaven_. He _can't _die.

After a few moments, Sam and Dean wordlessly relocated Cas to the bathroom. It would be bad enough trying to explain the elephant sized pool of blood in the middle of the room as it was, no need to make it even worse. They set him gently in the tub and assessed the rest of damage to Cas' body. He was almost entirely swathed in fugly-pattered bandages, and wherever there weren't bandages, there were bruises.

Finally, all they had left to do was fix his torso. Carefully, Dean peeled the shirt off of Cas. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Sam, and could barely stop one from himself. On Cas' chest was a sigil. The one used to banish angels. One he had seen hundreds of times, but only once carved into skin. Dean tried not to think about it as he cleaned and dressed the wound, careful to keep his mind painfully blank.

After what seemed like hours later, Sam and Dean carried Cas to the bed and laid him down. He was still unconscious, but he wasn't bleeding anymore; so they could count that as a win, at least.

Dean sat down heavily in a chair. He sagged, massaging his nose in his hand. Images of the sigil flashed over and over again in his head.

_Dammit Cas, what the hell happened?_

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**Ok! So ya- 'nother chapter! Thanks so much for all of you guys following this story- it means a lot.  
**

**Um- that song was just going through my head the whole time as I wrote it, so I decided to stick it in.**

**As you might have guessed, I decided to change the ending of season 8 a bit- so let me know what you think of that.**

**Otherwise- hope you liked it! PLEASE let me know what you thought about it, idc if it's just one word like, 'good', 'great', 'boring', 'bad' or WHATEVER (though longer reviews are kinda cool...) but just LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! :) Until next time-**

**~Magnolia**


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